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THE NATIONAL ADVOCATES, A POEM. AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO THE NONOURABLE THOMAS ERSKINE, AND VICARY GIBBS, ESQUIRE.
Mirum, qua intentione, quibus clamoribus omnia exceperint, qui modo reclamabant: tanta converſio vel negotii dignitatem, vel proventum orationis, vel actoris conſtantiam ſubſecuta eſt. PLIN. Epiſt. lib. ix. ep. 13.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. DEBRETT, OPPOSITE BURLINGION-HOUSE, PICCADILLY. MDCCXC [...].
THE NATIONAL ADVOCATES.
[]Spirits divine! who, pleas'd at Nature's birth,
Took your kind ſtation round the recent earth
To watch the world, in viewleſs ſtate ſublime,
A guardian each of each allotted clime—
Ye, who with pity have had cauſe to melt,
And anguiſh, ſuch as angels feel, have felt,
To witneſs evils that ye moſt abhor,
The fiend-like phrenſy of inſatiate war,
[2]Leagues without juſtice, without glory ſtrife,
And mad profuſion of envenom'd life;
Though crimes, from which your hallow'd optics ſhrink,
Hurry the vex'd globe to perdition's brink,
Ye will not yet your guilty charge abjure,
And fly from evils that ye fail to cure—
No, Ye have heard from Britain's favour'd iſle,
Sounds to excite a troubled Seraph's ſmile,
And draw to earth, on juſt protection's plan,
Pure ſpirits, friendly to the weal of man.
The ſound of joy that town to town repeats,
Circling from London and her crowded ſtreets,
As Echo guides it, with exulting hand,
To every confine of th' enfranchis'd land,—
[3]That ſound of joy was not the frantic roar
Of martial triumph pamper'd high with gore,
That giving murder a gigantic frame,
Rears the grim idol deck'd with Glory's name,
When ſanguinary man, with impious pride,
In falſe devotion real guilt to hide,
With inconſiſtence not to Pagans known,
Preſents prepoſterous thanks to Mercy's throne,
For having tainted both the earth and air,
With blood that Heaven commanded him to ſpare.—
The ſound of joy, this ſympathetic ſong
Would with fond zeal to diſtant time prolong,
Spoke not of war, but peace's nobler palm;
In civic tempeſts it announc'd a calm;
[4]Aſſuring Britain, in her worſt alarm,
That Law's bright aegis blazes on her arm;
That round her ſons the ſnares of legal death
Burſt at the hallow'd touch of Virtue's breath.
Ye nameleſs powers, who Reaſon's voice inſpire,
Who give to Eloquence her patriot fire;
Ye, who when man, in fields of ſpotleſs fame,
Strains noble faculties with nobleſt aim,
Haſte to refreſh him at true honour's goal
With eulogy, the muſic of the ſoul;
Grant in this verſe ſuch lucid praiſe to live,
As only Truth, fair child of Light, can give,
They only merit, who, of ſpirit clear,
And, deaf to int'reſt, as exempt from fear,
[5]Exert, while Power's preſumptuous claims they ſcan,
Celeſtial gifts in aid of ſuffering man;
Shew ſplendid talents ſanctified by worth,
And made a bleſſing to th' admiring earth:—
To you, entitled to the world's applauſe,
Fraternal advocates in Freedom's cauſe:—
To you, whom Friendſhip with fond pride unites,
With all the luſtre of her ancient rites,
Of equal probity and varied powers,
In arduous duty's ſpirit-trying hours,
Each to the other a benignant ſtar,
The Scipio and the Laelius of the bar:—
To you, illuſtrious friends, whoſe legal fame
Shall laſt, while Law herſelf, a ſacred name,
[6]Holds her primaeval right, her bleſt employ,
Parent of peace, and cheriſher of joy:—
To you I offer, nor will you refuſe,
You, who as Freedom's child careſs the Muſe,
Tribute, no power commands, no treaſures buy,
Pure as the tear of joy in true Love's eye;
Verſe undebas'd by adulation's art,
Freſh from the fountain of a feeling heart,
That ſcorns all Party rage of either ſide,
Faction's fierce ſpleen, and Pow'r's ſuſpicious pride,
And, loving England, that her laws diſplay
The bleſt beneficence of temperate ſway,
Honours her advocates, whoſe truth and zeal
Stand the firm pillars of the public weal:—
[7]Yes, ye brave pleaders in a cauſe, whoſe weight
Preſs'd on the vitals of a panting State,
'Twas not alone the being of a few
Black with falſe guilt, in dim ſuſpicion's view,
Whoſe lives, in deference to minds ſo rare,
Juſtice conſign'd to your defenſive care:
'Twas Britain's honour, 'twas her nobleſt wealth,
The very eſſence of the public health,
For which your patriot eloquence diſplay'd
Thoſe matchleſs powers, that bold yet temperate aid,
Which Themis ſanctioned with a ſacred ſmile,
And rightful joy convuls'd her reſcued iſle.
Whence is the gen'rous pride, a teſt of worth,
That makes a Briton glory in his birth?
[8]Not that his country, Nature's favour'd iſle,
Is fenc'd by commerce with a golden pile;
And can impel, with rich temptation's flood,
Poor continental kings to trade in blood,
Though reaping, as their fruit of martial care,
Diſcomfiture, diſgrace, diſmay, deſpair:
No: he exults that in his native land,
Hearts by the warmth of Liberty expand;
And Intellect, a tree that loves the light,
Shoots like a cedar of imperial height;
While fearleſs Freedom, with an eagle's ken,
Searching the ſoul of meaſures and of men,
Alike contemns, in their unmaſking hour,
The dupe of Party, and the ſlave of Power;
[9]And celebrates, what here ſhe ſtill can find,
True public virtue in a potent mind.
When a ſick nation, like a feveriſh child,
Sinks in a panick, wayward, dark, and wild;
From fear to fear in blind confuſion runs,
Miſtakes for foreign imps her genuine ſons;
Calls Loyalty a Traitor, Truth a Liar,
And Freedom's vital warmth Sedition's fire:
When rampant Power, beyond Ixion proud,
Impregnates with chimeras every cloud,
Bleſt be the minds, whoſe virtuous labours ſerve
To ſave their darkling country's viſual nerve;
While fancied plots and ſhadowy perils fly
Diſtemper's film, that dimm'd the nation's eye,
[10]Who, with recover'd ſight, exults to ſee
It is not treaſon, ſtill to wiſh her free.
Reaſon may ſmile, if ſophiſtry would ſhow
A faithful ſubject is a treacherous foe;
And thoſe, who ſtrike at vices in the State,
Muſt mean a Monarch's fall, and ſeek his fate;
As if corruption were the vital ſpring
Of that effulgent mortal ſtyl'd a King.
Unguarded Poet, in this troubled time,
Beware, cries Caution, how you rant in rhime,
Leſt you ſhould find there's treaſon in the metre,
That deems a Monarch a mere earthly creature.
With rational reſpect, not ſtupid awe,
As the juſt offspring and the guard of law,
[11]The voice of England, her creative voice,
Hails in a King the ruler of her choice.
And Nature here, as if inclin'd to claim
Immortal rev'rence for the regal name,
Bade Alfred's virtues to the world evince
How rightfully we prize a Patriot Prince:
Model of Kings! in a benighted age,
All that adorns the Hero and the Sage;
Lycurgus, Caeſar, Antonine in one,
With all their talents, of their errors none:
Thou, whoſe pure ſpirit to thy ſubjects taught,
The ſons of England ſhould be free as thought:
Thy arm preſerv'd, and thy more potent mind,
With ſapient aid, eſtabliſh'd or refin'd,
[12]For ſcenes more perilous than martial ſtrife,
Our guardian Juries, as the friends of life!
With fond delight, and with parental love,
Thy people's Father! from the realms above,
Thy ſainted ſpirit may exult to ſee,
That people guarding what they owe to thee:
Law's ſoundeſt buckler, Freedom's brighteſt dower,
Shielding bold Truth from irritable Power.
Ye Great, whoſe ſouls to genuine glory ſpring,
With ſuch ambition as becomes a king,
Mark how true greatneſs may in ev'ry clime
Command unceaſing life thro' diſtant time!
Gifts, that Beneficence, on Wiſdom's plan,
Confers to meliorate the lot of man,
[13]Live unimpair'd, unconſcious of decay,
While Pride's ignoble pageants paſs away.
The heart of Alfred ſtill our love excites,
He lives, he breathes in ev'ry Jury's rights!
Though of his line no Prince upholds the name,
He ſtill exiſts the favourite of Fame!
Though following kings, of ampler pomp and power,
Finiſh'd in fume their tranſitory hour:
Tudors of hot, and Stuarts of cold blood,
Have ſunk like wrecks in a tempeſtuous flood:
For, at the will of Heaven's Almighty Sire,
Palaces fall, and dynaſties expire.—
The noble Line, that, with Religion's ſmile,
Freedom invited to this far-fam'd Iſle;
[14]Whom Honour wafted on his golden wings
To this his fav'rite throne, and cried: "Be Kings!
Rule with mild ſway whom Force ſhall ne'er enſlave,
And long may Virtue guard what Freedom gave!"—
This Line, that boaſts the pureſt claim to power,
May fail—Avert, juſt Heav'n! their final hour;
And keep them as they keep their regal vow!—
Yet they may fail, and mortals know not how:
But if—in times no living eye can ſee,
Diſtant, far diſtant may that period be!
If England muſt perceive with fond regret
The ſtar of Brunſwick is for ever ſet;
A George with Alfred may this glory ſhare,
That Law's pure current was his ſov'reign care:
[15]If from great Alfred's reign free Juries flow,
The independent Judge to George we owe.
Mild Sov'reign! doom'd, in life's tumultuous dream,
To feel of bliſs and woe each wide extreme,
Juſtice could well thy youthful care engage,
May Heaven make Peace an idol of thy age!
O bid this wheel of War revolve no more,
This frantic lottery of guilt and gore!
Where, when Truth weighs the profit and the pain,
None but the Fiends of deſolation gain.
Let not falſe policy, to Nature blind,
And deaf to Reaſon pleading for mankind,
Precipitately urge a barb'rous war,
That Equity and Truth alike abhor,
[16]As weak in conduct, as devoid of right,
And boding certain ill in ev'ry light:
Speed as it may, each oppoſite event
Freedom muſt fear, Humanity lament.
No, cry the advocates for laſting ſtrife,
Let us be prodigal of wealth and life;
Let Britain's treaſure round the globe be hurl'd,
Long let her ſubſidiſe the regal world;
Rather than ſee the Gallic rage advance,
And madd'ning Europe ape the crimes of France!
England, brave nation, of an honeſt mind,
Yet often dup'd as credulouſly blind;
Too apt, when artifice obſtructs thy view,
To ſhrink from fancied ills, and ſcorn the true;
[17]Learn, when thy neighbour of ſuperb pretence,
Whoſe feelings are too quick for ſober ſenſe;
Learn, when aſſuming France, by Folly led,
Might beſt awaken thy judicious dread:
Not in the hour when, ſpurning baſe controul,
She pluck'd the iron from her wounded ſoul;
Not in the hour when Indignation's arm
O'erthrew her proud Baſtile, as with a charm,
And gave to feſtive Joy the vacant ſpace,
Nobly diſburthen'd of Earth's dark diſgrace:
No—in her ancient calm, her nerveleſs hour
Of tame ſubmiſſion to deſpotic power,
France might excite more reaſonable fear,
Than all her armies in their firſt career;
[18]For, when in Tyranny's cold graſp ſhe lay,
And ſtrove to ſmile her ſenſe of wrongs away,
On her ſoft breaſt a ſpecious Fiend ſhe nurs'd,
Of all inſinuating fiends the worſt:
Pleas'd to empoiſon nations with her breath,
And ſow the viewleſs ſeeds of public death;
To deaden virtue, to diſpirit joy,
And all the energies of life deſtroy.
For in the minds that, fearſul of deceit,
Slowly embrace this faſcinating cheat,
Reaſon, ſelf-puzzled, loſes all its ſkill,
To mark th' eternal bounds of good and ill;
To them Religion's ſweet ſeraphic face
Appears the ſickly maſk of ſour grimace:
[19]Man, her dear charge, they deem a moving clod,
And, deaf to the paternal voice of God,
Deſpiſe the gift his gracious power beſtow'd,
Feeling exiſtence a lethargic load.
Whence ſprung the fiend, whoſe tyrannous controul
Thus robs of every joy the palſied ſoul?
Born to avenge what Greece endur'd from Rome,
Amidſt an attic garden's baneful bloom
Roſe the fair peſt, in beauty and in power
A new Pandora! wretchedneſs her dower:
Sweet was the wreath of fading flowers ſhe wore,
And gay* Philoſophy the name ſhe bore.
[20]Two kindred forms, where'er ſhe moves, are ſeen,
The ſure attendants of their potent Queen:
Firſt, bloated Indolence, whoſe cheeks diſcloſe
The ſickly colours of the wither'd roſe;
Whoſe languid arm ſcarce bears the light employ,
To lift the bubbling cup of mimic joy;
Whoſe lips deride, with a contemptuous ſneer,
Firm Virtue ſtruggling in Contention's ſphere.
Behind her, Apathy, whoſe half-glaz'd eyes
Ne'er melt with love, or ſparkle with ſurpriſe;
Whoſe touch, more cold than Terror's icy breath,
Shoots through the wither'd heart petrific Death.
With theſe, her miniſters, to Rome ſhe fled,
And ſtruck the nerve of Roman vigour dead;
[21]The tow'ring Eagle fell her palſied prey,
And dying Freedom curs'd her baleful ſway.
Awhile ſhe ſat with Triumph's flag unfurl'd,
The laughing Vict'reſs of the Roman world;
In pomp Circean, there ſhe joy'd to ſhine,
Her cave the palace, Emperors her ſwine!
But ſoon her nerveleſs ſlaves, unfit for war,
Sunk into duſt before the ſons of Thor;
The Sorcereſs fell, with all her feeble charms,
Cruſh'd by the brave barbarians' maſſive arms.
Through many an age ſhe lay in lifeleſs trance,
But wak'd to wider ill in ſervile France;
Gallia's proud Genius, who by force in vain
Had toil'd to forge an univerſal chain,
[22]Tried o'er the earth his empire to extend,
By the ſmooth arts of this inſidious friend;
Snare Virtue's ſons by Pleaſure's ſyren form,
And ſap thoſe bulwarks that he fail'd to ſtorm.
Brave generous Britons, who have leſs to fear
From open enmity's uplifted ſpear,
Beware this ſmiling peſtilence, and know
In French Philoſophy your deadlieſt foe!
O for that warning lyre, whoſe ſolemn ſwell
Loudly proclaim'd th' advancing Lord of Hell,
When firſt that prime Artificer of Ill
Leap'd with light bound o'er Eden's higheſt hill!—
For not more hoſtile to thoſe happy bowers,
Came the fierce Chief of Falſehood's treach'rous Powers,
[23]Than the gay Syren, fraught with impious guile,
To the frank virtues of this fearleſs Iſle.
Yet vain ſuch warning!—As a welcome gueſt,
Deluded Britain met the ſmiling peſt;
And oh how wide new ſcenes of woe extend,
Since the baſe ſtranger grew her boſom friend!
Vain Diſſipation, in her wild abyſs,
O'erwhelms the temp'rate guards of genuine bliſs:
No more Fidelity, with Seraph's power,
Spreads her firm wing around the nuptial bower,
That heirs of Truth, of Virtue, Health, and Grace
May ſpring to life from Paſſion's pure embrace;
Prepar'd to cheriſh with affection fond
Each private duty, and each public bond:
[24]No more Content, and Gratitude, whoſe light
Turns Earth to Paradiſe in mental ſight,
Through dark'ning ſcenes bewilder'd Reaſon guide,
And make Humility more ſtrong than Pride:
To French Philoſophy theſe fall a prey,
And Life's prime bleſſings are all laugh'd away:—
Nay, Life itſelf! For, when the Sophiſt tribes
With the keen ſtroke of their ſarcaſtic gibes
Have cut the cordage, for our ſafety given,
By which the anchor'd ſpirit reſts on Heaven—
What gulphs the veſſel of the Mind o'erwhelm,
When ſpleenful Phrenſy has uſurp'd the helm!
Have we not ſeen a France-taught Sophiſt here
To impious Suicide a refuge rear,
[25]And give, with argument's deluſive air,
A treach'rous ſanction to her mad deſpair?
Tempeſtuous England! Though we oft ſurmiſe,
The heavy vapours of thy varying ſkies
Breed in our ſadden'd frames the mental ſtrife,
Where fancy ſickens with diſguſt of life:
Not all thy fogs, however damp and denſe,
Can fix ſuch languor on our loaded ſenſe,
As falſe Philoſophers by ſtealth impart,
To the cold fibres of the hard'ning heart;
When their baſe maxims on our ſpirit ſteal,
And quench our native flames of love and zeal.
No, though around us exhalations run,
That ſeem to ſmother the enfeebled Sun;
[26]True Engliſh minds, that England ſtill admire,
And feel the genuine glow of patriot fire,
Defy the ſtorm from ſouthern caves releas'd,
And the raw vapours of the blighting Eaſt.
Within themſelves an antidote they bear
Gainſt all the dark caprices of the air;
'Tis fervent gratitude, and fond eſteem
For names ſtill bright with Public Virtue's beam;
'Tis gen'rous pride, of reaſon the reſult,
That makes a Briton in his birth exult,
As the compatriot of minds, whoſe worth
Has giv'n ſuch ſplendour to this ſpeck of earth;
That, while o'er other realms in Slavery's chain,
An heavy mental twilight ſeem'd to reign,
[27]Here, and here only, with meridian ray
Glow'd the full warmth of intellectual day;
And generous thoughts, that no damp winds controul,
Form the pure climate of the healthy ſoul.
"Aye, in old time, cries Age-engender'd Spleen,
Such England was!—but mark her alter'd ſcene:
See Lux'ry's torrents like hot lava ſhoot,
With'ring all Genius, killing Virtue's root;
Nor leaving ought unblaſted by their fire,
That Senſe can praiſe, or Honeſty admire."
This fretful humour of the fancied Sage
Has in each poliſh'd aera ſpent its rage;
While credulous Simplicity, aghaſt,
Has heard of preſent ſhame, and glory paſt;
[28]Of nerveleſs bodies, of enfeebled minds,
And every ill that ſickly Fancy finds;
When all's inverted that her optics ſee,
And nothing is, but what has ceas'd to be.
But come, Hiſtoric Truth, whoſe hand enrolls
Each ſplendid record of exalted ſouls;
Come, Moral Fiction, o'er whoſe mimic glaſs
Bright pageants of ideal merit paſs:
Come hand in hand, fair friends to Virtue, come,
And ſtrike this murmuring detraction dumb!
Say, in each group your blended ſcenes unfold,
Keen Admiration can no names behold,
That claim in public love a nobler part,
Or win more honour from the upright heart,
[29]Than you, ye Legal Heroes of my ſong,
As dear to fancy, as in reaſon ſtrong;
Who, in deſpite of mental toil and pain,
That ſeem to threaten the o'er-burden'd brain,
Breath'd the pure ſoul of manly eloquence,
Simple in language, liberal in ſenſe;
And, with intrepid Virtue's guardian care,
Reſcued the Captives tangled in the ſnare
Of blood-hound ſpies, whoſe proſtituted mind
Toil'd to create the guilt it could not find.
No: proud Antiquity's departed hoſt,
Whoſe ſhadowy marvels Learning loves to boaſt,
Shew not, in civic glory's favourite days,
Pleaders more worthy of a People's praiſe.
[30]When by rapt Greece Demoſthenes was heard,
And thunder ſeem'd leſs potent than his word;
The ſtormy paſſions of revenge and ire
Ting'd his bright language with intemp'rate fire:
When Tully, deſtin'd to the Grecian's doom,
Pour'd forth philippics to applauding Rome;
Perſonal hate, with patriot virtue warm,
Gave force and fury to his verbal ſtorm.
Theſe heroes of the hot forenſic ſcene
Blended with public zeal their private ſpleen:—
Not ſo the Pleaders who this verſe inſpire,
Who merit paeans, from a nobler lyre:
As free from virulence, as void of fear,
In conduct graceful, as in motive clear.
[31]They paid juſt homage to preſiding Law,
With manly deference, and decent awe.
No ſelfiſh pride, in which light minds rejoice,
Rais'd to victorious ſway their temp'rate voice:
But England's welfare, on their heart impreſt,
Pure public virtue, glowing in their breaſt,
Arm'd their juſt ſouls with intellectual force,
To check Authority's vindictive courſe,
And turn Deluſion's tide in Danger's hour,
Reckleſs of frowns from Prejudice and Power.
ERSKINE and GIBBS! whoſe names, to Nature dear,
Ages unborn may grateſully revere;
While this memorial of your worth I raiſe,
And firmly credit what I fondly praiſe;
[32]One hateful truth ſhall Mem'ry dare ſuggeſt,
Grav'd on the deep receſſes of her breaſt:
Rudely ſhe teaches, from her ample range,
That Public Virtue is moſt apt to change.
The faithful hand, that theſe frank lines ſupplied,
Ne'er laviſh'd incenſe by the heart belied;
But, with fond zeal to court in joyous youth
A public idol of imagin'd truth,
Has oft diſcarded an unfiniſh'd taſk,
Finding Apoſtacy in Virtue's maſk;
For ere my fingers could the garland weave,
Like that our hapleſs Father twin'd for Eve,
It dropp'd, and all its faded roſes ſhed,
Scorning to garniſh an Apoſtate's head.
[33]But may this civic wreath, in eager haſte
Form'd of wild flowers, by Merit's ſmile be grac'd!
For lives preſerv'd unqueſtionably due,
(The nameleſs donor proves the tribute true;)
Bays from Sincerity's obſcure retreat
May cheriſh Virtue in Contention's heat.
Ye, to whom England owes a pleaſing debt,
That Engliſh gratitude ſhould ne'er forget;
Thus Freedom prays, to recompenſe your care,
Deign, righteous Heav'n! to ratify the pray'r:
"Live my firm aids to life's ſereneſt end,
Friends to each other, each the people's friend;
Live beyond life of Briton's glory part,
Enſhrin'd for ever in the public heart!"
FINIS.
Notes
*
‘The doctrine of Epicurus ever ruinous to ſociety; it had its riſe when Greece was declining, and perhaps haſtened its diſſolution, as alſo that of Rome. It is now propagated in France and England, and ſeems likely to produce the ſame effect in both. GRAY's Works, 4to. page 202.’
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4042 The national advocates a poem Affectionately inscribed to the Honourable Thomas Erskine and Vicary Gibbs Esquire. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6139-7